


Blood on My Hands (No Guilt on My Conscience)

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Violence, another Incredibly Niche AU™, jimmy is a hitman, mox is a gun for hire, the smut comes in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: God, Mox missed this.He’s spent too much time away from the business, too much time away from the violence and blood and depravity of it all. He’s got a knife strapped in his boot and a gun in his waistband and he’s never felt more at home as he waits in some dingy alley behind a seedy bar for his client.





	Blood on My Hands (No Guilt on My Conscience)

_ God _ , Mox missed this.

He’s spent too much time away from the business, too much time away from the violence and blood and  _ depravity _ of it all. He’s got a knife strapped in his boot and a gun in his waistband and he’s never felt more at home as he waits in some dingy alley behind a seedy bar for his client.

He doesn’t know anything about his client, other than a name. Jimmy Havoc. Research has garnered nothing, which in and of itself isn’t unusual, not in this business. What’s unusual is the lack of  _ any  _ information; no known hits, no known associates,  _ nothing _ . Mox wouldn’t think the man existed if he didn’t have a paycheck from him at home.

The man that approaches Mox is. Well. Mox has learned to never make assumptions about the kinds of people in this industry, but if the man that comes up to him is Havoc, then he’s  _ not _ what Mox expected. He’s wearing a cardigan, for starters, over an old AFI shirt and torn jeans. His hair is short and black, shaved to skin save for the top. He’s… kinda small, to be honest, standing a good half foot shorter than Mox. He doesn’t look armed, either.

“You Moxley?” His words are muffled by a thick London accent and the studded leather muzzle covering the lower half of his face. His eyes, ringed with black liner, are  _ intense _ , vividly blue even in the dim lighting.

Mox raises an eyebrow. “You Havoc?” He asks, fiddling with his lighter. He doesn’t have his smokes, forgot them at home, but it gives him something to do with his hands.

The man laughs. “Do random people usually know your name?” He asks, crossing his arms. There are scars littered across his hands, split skin and day-old scabs peppering his knuckles. His nails are painted, chipped black polish shining in the dark light.

Mox shrugs halfheartedly. “I’m not really a discreet guy.” His fingers twitch at his side, itch to reach and grab his gun. He doesn’t really like this kind of evasion, answering questions with questions. He has half a mind to see how this man responds with a gun to his temple.

The man nods, almost in understanding. “Come with me, Moxley.” He says, walking towards the backdoor of the bar. It’s propped open by a cinderblock, but there’s a man on the inside keeping people out. He nods at the man.

Mox stares for a moment before following. He’s got nothing better to do, and there’s something about the way this man watches him, appraising,  _ like he knows Mox _ , that makes him feel comfortable following. Either way, Mox has a weapon, so he’s not worried.

The man leads him to a backroom, lit by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There are a few guns on the table, as well as what looks like a brick of coke and a briefcase that, if he had to bet, Mox would say is full of blood money. The man sits down, feet kicked up on the table. He pulls off the muzzle and tosses it on the table before taking a swig from a bottle of beer. He offers it to Mox.

“It’s come to my attention that I’ve made some… enemies recently. I have a few jobs in town before I leave and I need protection. Some of my contacts said you were the guy for the job.” The man says. He’s staring at Mox, intently, like he’s waiting for Mox to do something.

“What kind of jobs are you in town for?” Mox asks, taking a long pull from the bottle. It’s darker than he’s used to, almost thick enough to chew, but it’s beer so he isn’t complaining. He sets the bottle on the table and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“I’ve been hired to kill someone. No one of any importance, but he has an entourage that have caught wind of the plan. I’d rather not lose my head over some shitstain.” Havoc (Mox assumes it’s him, at this point) shrugs. 

Mox has to admire his bluntness. It’s surprisingly difficult to find honest people, even outside of the business. Hearing someone say their plans and reasonings without tiptoeing around them is… refreshing. “Who’s the target?”

Havoc looks at him for a moment. His thin lips are quirked into an amused smirk, something alarming in its intensity. He seems like he’s weighing his options, weighing how much information he wants to give. Smart man.

Eventually, he tilts his weight back and says, “Ospreay.” It’s a simple name, but one Mox knows. He hasn’t had many interactions with him, but he entirely understands the hit put on him. 

The knowledge must play across his face because Havoc quirks an eyebrow. “I take it you know him?”

Mox shrugs. “Not well, but I met him a few times in Japan. His reputation precedes him.” Mox leaves it at that. “So what’ll this job entail for me?” He asks instead, leaning against the wall.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, especially for someone of your… talents. I simply need protection until I leave town. I’ll be here for around a week. Like I said, I don’t want to die over a man like Ospreay, so I’d appreciate the protection you could provide.”

“What’s in it for me?” Mox asks bluntly. He knows Havoc has money, knows it first hand. The dude paid him a ridiculous amount just to have this meeting; he’s gotten paid less for full hits before.

Havoc gestures his head to the briefcase sitting on the edge of the table. It’s a beaten up thing, old black leather with a broken latch. Mox raises an eyebrow. He opens it cautiously; he knows all too well that this could be a trap. 

It isn’t a trap. Instead, it’s full of wrapped stacks of cash. Mox grabs one and thumbs through it; all 20s. He carefully counts through the money, even after Havoc tells him a total.

$25,000. 

“I know you’re probably used to larger paychecks, given the organization you used to work for. If the price is an issue, we can negotiate.” Havoc offers. The glint in his eyes says he knows Mox will take the bait.

Mox does.

“Fuck it.” He flicks his lighter impatiently. “What have I got to lose?”

Havoc’s grin is a little too dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cherry-mox on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
